Out of Time
by Beth Arritt
Summary: Jack takes action against the VCTF.


Profiler and all its characters belong to Sander/Moses, Cynthia Saunders, NBC and the wonderful cast and crew. I'm just borrowing the excelent characters they gave us and I promise to put them right back where they belong and not hurt them. And not to make any money from any of them while they're here.

* * *

**Out of Time**  
by Beth Arritt  
_Copyright 1997_

"Hey, Bailey, what--" Sam stopped as she walked into her boss's office and saw that he was on the phone.  
  
"And nobody saw him?" Bailey waved her into the office. "Okay, okay. Keep me posted. We'll be at the airport soon." He hung up.  
  
"What's up?" Sam asked, her original question forgotten.  
  
"A passenger boarded a plane half an hour ago in Dallas bound for Atlanta. He was traveling under the name Dr. Tom Waters."  
  
Sam took a deep breath and forced herself to stay calm. "The name's not that uncommon."  
  
"The address he gave the airline was your old address in Maryland."  
  
John walked in and took a look at their faces. "What's going on?"  
  
Sam looked at him. "Jack's at it again."  
  
***  
  
Several hours later, Bailey, Sam and John were standing outside the vault that had been converted into a cell when they captured Austin Keller. They had apprehended "Dr. Waters" when he stepped off the plane, confiscated his luggage, and were now studying him through the one-way glass.  
  
"I've talked to him," Bailey said. "He says his name is Mark Smith, he's never heard of Tom Waters, he doesn't know how his name got changed in the airline computer, and he's in Atlanta to visit family."  
  
"Do we have a list of what was in his luggage?" Sam looked through the list Bailey handed her. "I don't know. I don't think he's Jack, but if it isn't, then it's a clue from Jack and we need to figure out what he's up to." She turned to Bailey. "I need to talk to him."  
  
Bailey nodded. "Take John in there. At least at first," he added, seeing she was about to protest. "Once you shut that door he could kill you before we could open it again."  
  
After a brief hesitation, she nodded. The two of them waited for the guard to unlock the door, then stepped inside.  
  
***  
  
"Well, that was helpful," John remarked after they left the cell over half an hour later.   
  
Bailey looked at Sam. "Assessment?"  
  
"His name is Mark Smith, he's from Dallas, and he has no clue who Jack is."  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"He could be a mass murderer, serial killer and arsonist all rolled into one for all I know, but he isn't Jack." Sam threw down her notepad. "I'm sick of his games. What does he want this time?"  
  
"You said yourself that this Smith guy is a clue," John reminded her.  
  
"But a clue to what?" She sighed and picked up her notes. "I'll be in my office banging my head against the wall if you need me."  
  
***  
  
A few minutes later, John walked into Sam's office just as she was answering the phone. He started to leave, then stopped as he noticed the look on her face. Only one thing could cause that look. He hurried over to the desk.  
  
Sam put the call on the speaker. "What do you want, Jack?"  
  
"Ask not what you can do for your Jack, but what your Jack can do for you."  
  
"I think you've done quite enough." She checked her watch, hoping he'd stay on long enough to trace him.  
  
"Is that any way to talk to someone who can help you?"  
  
"Help me? How?" Off to the side John muttered something about suicide, but she ignored him.  
  
"How is our Mr. Smith doing? Feeling all right?"  
  
"He's fine. Why?"  
  
"Oh, I think you should check on him again. And read your e-mail." He made a kissing noise into the phone, then hung up.  
  
Both Sam and John checked their watches. They knew it wasn't enough time to get through Jack's high-tech scrambling devices and locate the source of the call.  
  
John picked up Sam's phone. "I'll check on Smith, you read your e-mail."  
  
Sam opened the mail program on her laptop. Sure enough, the most recent message was from Jack.  
  
-------------------  
  
Had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Smith two days ago. We had a killer dinner together. We didn't discuss the article on Page 44 of Time Magazine, but I think it would have special meaning to him now.  
  
Jack  
  
-------------------  
  
Sam looked up from the screen. "How's Smith?"  
  
"The guard said he's complaining of a stomach ache and seems to be feverish."  
  
"We need the most recent issue of Time Magazine."  
  
John looked confused, but he didn't ask questions. "I think Bailey has one in his office."  
  
Sam called Bailey and asked him to bring the magazine to her office, while John read the e-mail. Bailey showed up in less than a minute and handed her the magazine. "What's wrong?" John explained about the phone call and e-mail as Sam scanned the article.  
  
She put the magazine down on her desk and closed her eyes for a second. "Remember the virus that recently killed everyone in that military encampment in Brundi?" Both Bailey and John nodded. "Unless I miss my guess, Mark Smith was infected with that virus two days ago, and two to three hours ago, he became contagious."  
  
John blinked at her. "Which means..."  
  
"That in about 47 hours, the three of us and the guard downstairs become contagious."  
  
"And then we die?"  
  
"No." Bailey, who had been silent ever since Sam finished the article, jumped into action. "It'll never get that far. Sam, call Grace, tell her to get in here. I want her in my office when I talk to the military about this. They've been working on this since it hit in Africa, they have to know more about it by now. And have George see if he can trace that e-mail message."  
  
"John, take the picture of Jack down to Smith and see if that's what he looked like. If not, get a sketch artist on the phone with him and get a picture. No one who hasn't already been exposed to him goes into that area." Bailey was at the door by the time he finished giving orders. "What are you waiting for? We're on the clock, and I don't know about you, but I plan to go visit my daughter the day after tomorrow." John hurried to follow him out the door as Sam picked up the phone to call Grace.  
  
***  
  
Six hours passed before they met to discuss their progress. Sam and John were sitting silently at opposite ends of the couch in Sam's office, having just received word Mike Smith was dead, when Bailey and Grace walked in, followed by a man in an Army uniform.   
  
"This is Captain Chris Anderson." Bailey introduced the pair on the couch. "Chris is heading up the government's research on this virus at Quantico. I'll let him tell you about it." Grace and the captain took the two chairs, so Sam moved towards John to make room for Bailey on the couch.  
  
"First of all, we know the virus can only survive one generation as an airborne contagion. So even though you caught it from Smith, you're not going to be able to give it to someone else.  
  
"How does that affect the process of the virus?" Sam asked.  
  
"It doesn't, really. It will still follow its normal course, it just won't be contagious when it goes active."  
  
John leaned forward. "So how close are you to an antidote?"  
  
"We're not sure. Having live human subjects will speed the process along."  
  
"I'm so happy to be your lab rat," John muttered as he slumped back against the couch.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grant, I know this is tough, but from the estimates I've been given, we have about forty hours before the disease goes active, after which no antidote will be able to help you. If you don't believe me you're welcome to go visit Mr. Smith in the morgue. So you'll forgive me if I forgo delicacy for the sake of time."  
  
"What can we do?" Sam asked.  
  
"I need blood samples from each of you. We've figured out how to detect the inactive virus through our work with test animals, and we can pinpoint the time of infection within a few minutes."  
  
"How can you tell anything if it's inactive?" John asked as Grace took blood from his arm.  
  
"Inactive is not a perfect term. We actually mean it hasn't taken action on the host yet. It has to go through a process in your body before it can act against you. By seeing where the virus is in the process in your system we can tell its time frame."  
  
John rolled his eyes. "Fascinating." Bailey shot him a warning look hard enough to make him apologize, albeit rather curtly.  
  
Grace finished taking the blood samples. "I'll show you where the rest of your team has set up in the forensics lab," she offered. Chris followed her out of the office.  
  
"Now what?" John rubbed his eyes.  
  
Bailey stood up and looked at the two of them on the couch. "You two look exhausted. You should get some sleep. I'll wake you as soon as we hear something." He left, closing the door behind him.  
  
"Sleep? I may have less than two days to live, and he wants me to sleep. Funny."  
  
Sam moved back to the other end of the couch and curled up in the corner. "You need to sleep. Your body needs to be strong to help fight the virus when they find the antidote."  
  
"You mean you're gonna be able to sleep?"  
  
"I'm going to try. You'd be surprised what I can sleep through these days." She tucked her face into her arm.  
  
He studied her for a long moment, then his face softened. "Sam... none of this is your fault."  
  
"I know." Her voice was muffled.  
  
"You don't sound convinced."  
  
"Knowing something doesn't necessarily change how you feel."  
  
John sat up. "Sam... look at me." He waited until she finally sat up and looked at him. "You have to believe none of this is your fault. I don't care what you have to do, tell yourself a hundred times, write it down and stare at it, but no matter what, don't let yourself feel guilty for what he does. You're playing right into his hands if you do."  
  
"I know I can't stop him," she replied, "but if I hadn't come out of hiding, or let any of you get close to me, none of this would be happening." A tear rolled down her cheek, despite her efforts to remain calm. "Maybe it's not my fault, but I could have prevented it."  
  
"How? By seeing the future? You're good, but you're not that good." He wiped the tear off her face and pulled her close to his side, his arm over her shoulder. "We all made our own decisions. We knew the risks and we stayed. He tried to kill us and we stayed. Whatever happens is his fault, and a result of our choices. Neither of those are things you have any control over."  
  
"I know," she said softly, relaxing against him.  
  
"But you don't believe." He sat there for several minutes until she fell asleep. "You don't believe," he repeated in a whisper. "And I don't know if I have the time to make you." He laid his head against hers and fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
When John awoke, he was alone. He blinked a couple of times and looked around as the situation slowly came back to him. A glance at his watch told him he'd managed to sleep for almost four hours, which meant they had roughly thirty-six hours left before the virus activated. "I wonder how many innings of baseball thirty-six hours would translate into?" he asked the statue on the coffee table. "You're a lot of help," he muttered when, predictably, it didn't answer.  
  
He decided to go look for the rest of the group. He had checked Bailey's office and was on his way to the forensics lab when he ran into Sam.  
  
"John! I was just coming to wake you." She wouldn't look him in the eye. "Chris and his team have found something. They're in the lab." She turned back toward the lab, and he followed.  
  
Grace and Bailey were there with Chris and his team of scientists. "What's up?" John asked as he walked in.  
  
"We've confirmed something interesting about the virus," Chris answered. "It seems it only affects males."  
  
"Excuse me? You mean this thing can tell the difference and avoid women?"  
  
"Not exactly. The female body contains something that apparently inhibits the virus and then kills it long before it can go active."  
  
John looked over at Sam, who was looking out the window, then looked back at Chris. "So Sam will be fine?"  
  
He nodded. "It had already begun to deteriorate when we took the first blood sample. Now there's no trace of the virus left in her system."  
  
"Can't you just duplicate whatever it is in us?"  
  
"It's not that simple. But we're working on it."  
  
"You're working on it. Great. That's very helpful." John turned to leave, but Grace called him back for another blood sample. He stalked over to her and stuck out his arm. As soon as she was finished, he stormed out of the lab and back to Sam's office.  
  
***  
  
A couple of hours later he had given up trying to sleep. He was slouched in the corner of the couch, studying a framed picture of Sam and Chloe when he heard the door open.  
  
"I thought I locked that," he muttered without looking up.  
  
"It's my office, I have a key." Sam walked over to sit beside him on the couch. "That's one of my favorites," she said, nodding at the picture in his hands. "We went down to the lake, determined to get a picture of us at sunset, so of course, everything went wrong. The tripod fell over twice, the remote button wouldn't work, all kinds of things. Then when we'd practically given up and were laughing at all the problems, the camera finally clicked and took that one."  
  
A fleeting half-smile crossed John's face as he put the picture back on the coffee table. Then he sat back and stared into space.  
  
"John..." Sam laid her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry."  
  
He didn't look at her. "What, first it's your fault Jack's an asshole, now it's your fault you're a woman?"  
  
"No. But... I don't know... this just... sucks!"  
  
This time he did look at her, his eyebrows raised in amusement. "Things must be bad. I've never heard you use that phrase before." He sobered quickly as his eyes strayed to the picture again. "You know, you always think you have all the time in the world. You never think you may not get to do all the things you put off."  
  
"I know. But then when you survive, you forget to make the most of every moment."  
  
John was still for a long moment before he took her hand from where it was still lying on his arm and used it to pull her slowly toward him.  
  
Sam's eyes grew wide. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Making the most of every moment," he replied before his lips reached hers in one long kiss.  
  
"Why did you do that?" Sam asked when he finally pulled back.  
  
"Because I wanted to." He placed his hand on her cheek, smoothing her hair back behind her ear with his fingertips. "Because you're beautiful. Because if I *am* gonna die, then I want to spend my last day doing some of the things I've dreamed about for a long time, and that's definitely in the top five."  
  
She stared at him, still wide-eyed. "What can I say to something like that?" she asked, her voice shaky.  
  
"You could ask what the other four are," he joked.  
  
She hesitated, then shook her head. "I'm not sure I want to know."  
  
He took in the shock still obvious on her face and his eyes narrowed. "You have to have known how I feel--"  
  
She put her hand to his lips to silence him. "Don't. Think about what you're doing. Don't say something you'll regret after we get the antidote and you realize you have sixty or seventy years ahead of you."  
  
He opened his mouth enough to catch her fingers between his lips. She snatched her hand back instantly. "I'll regret it more if I don't do this now. I've never been good at telling people how I feel. But if we don't find an antidote, I want you to know."  
  
Sam studied her hands for a moment, then looked back at him. "And if we do?"  
  
"It doesn't change how I feel about you." They stared at each other for a moment, then Sam slowly leaned toward him. Their lips touched for only a second before a knock on the door sent them scampering to opposite ends of the couch.  
  
Nathan popped his head in the door. "Hey, George thinks he might have found something in the e-mail message. Bailey wants everyone in the Command Center pronto." He looked at them closely. "Everything all right?"  
  
"Fine." Sam pasted a smile on her face and hurried past Nathan on her way to the Command Center.  
  
As John headed for the door, Nathan looked at him for an explanation. John just shook his head. "Don't ask."  
  
***  
  
Within minutes, Bailey, Sam, John, Nathan and Grace had all joined George around the table in the Command Center. George displayed the e-mail on the large computer screen at the end of the table. "I stared at this thing for so long I couldn't see anything in it, so I took a break and when I came back, I realized what was wrong." He used the cursor to frame a group of letters in the header. "This."  
  
"Half the stuff in there looks like gibberish to me, George." Bailey walked over to stand behind him. "What's so special about this?"  
  
"Well, the rest of the gibberish I can explain. This doesn't belong here." He enlarged the framed section so the string of letters and numbers were alone on the screen. "Anybody know why Jack would have hidden this in the message?"  
  
"It looks like a formula," Grace said.  
  
"A formula?" Bailey looked at Sam. "That son of a bitch."  
  
John let out a frustrated sigh. "Someone wanna fill us in?"  
  
Sam smiled at him. "George may have just discovered the formula for the antidote."  
  
***  
  
Two hours passed while the science team cooked up the formula and tested it. Everyone but Grace had retired to Sam's office and were busy trying to keep each other distracted while they waited for word from the lab. Finally Grace appeared at the door with a big smile.   
  
"We think it works."  
  
***  
  
It was several more hours, but finally Bailey, John and the guard were all completely clear of any sign of the virus. Chris warned them all to have blood samples taken daily for the next week to be safe. Then he and his team packed up and went back to Virginia. The VCTF team went home to get some much needed sleep, with orders from Bailey to take the next day off.  
  
***  
  
Sam had been in her office about ten minutes on the first day back after the virus scare when John knocked on the door then walked in. He crossed to sit in front of her desk. "Hi."  
  
"Hi." Sam gave him a slightly awkward smile.  
  
"Listen, Sam, I... uh..."  
  
"Look, John, if you want we can forget that conversation the other day ever happened."  
  
"You're a helluva profiler, but I think we've established you don't have a clue what's going on up here," he said, pointing to his head.  
  
She smiled. "Sorry. What were you going to say?"  
  
"I was going to ask you if you and Chloe would like to have dinner with me tonight."  
  
"Oh..."  
  
When she didn't answer right away, he stood up and started to leave. "If you'd rather not--"  
  
"How about seven?"  
  
"O'clock?" He blinked.  
  
She laughed and nodded.  
  
"Sure. I'll come by the firehouse."   
  
"Okay."  
  
"Okay. Good." He walked out of the room.  
  
Sam watched him head back to his desk, then opened one of the folders on her desk and went back to work, smiling the whole time.

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   [1]: http://gwis2.circ.gwu.edu/~betha/
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